


True Motives

by K_Hanna_Korossy



Category: Adam-12
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-21
Updated: 2016-01-21
Packaged: 2018-05-15 08:23:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5778394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/K_Hanna_Korossy/pseuds/K_Hanna_Korossy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They both have their reasons for staying in the Force. Maybe not such different reasons. Or, how Jim almost getting killed reaffirmed Pete's faith.</p>
            </blockquote>





	True Motives

Published in _Remote Control 14 (2000)  
_

 

"One-Adam-12, PM watch clear." Officer Jim Reed called in the usual and hung up the radio, sitting back in his seat. His partner, Pete Malloy, smoothly pulled their unit out of the police lot and onto the street to begin their patrol.

Minutes passed in silence. After a while, even laconic Malloy noticed, casting a curious glance at his partner. 

Pete Malloy had ridden or worked with several officers in his career, including his former partner of seven years, but it was this one, this much younger officer at his side with whom he'd gotten the most comfortable and efficient. It would be a little bit longer before Jim gathered enough experience to truly be an equal partner, maybe even take his turn at driving--though Pete wasn't so happy at that thought--but even now there wasn't anyone else Malloy would rather have had riding with him. Or spent some after-hours time with, or had an easy talk with. 

Usually. Usually at this point, Jim was already teasing him about the date he'd gone on the night before, or telling him about toddler Jimmy's newest exploit. Quietly sitting there, apparently engrossed in the street--except that Pete read him better than that--was not his partner's way. 

"Something bothering you?" he asked as a throwaway, his gaze on the road as he made a turn. A red Camaro a few cars up was going a little fast but Pete kept an eye on it. 

He still caught the half-shrug and shake of the head from his partner. "Not exactly. I'm just thinking about McCree's funeral." A quick glance at Pete, then back to the street. "Just doesn't seem fair, his getting killed in a chase like that." 

Pete had heard all that before, chewed on it uselessly himself. McCree's death had been one of the more senseless ones, if there was any other kind: a chase involving a 211 suspect that turned deadly when the suspect had suddenly spun out, knocking into McCree's car and sending it crashing into a civilian's. Both McCree and the civilian, a college student, had been killed instantly, while the 211 suspect got by without a scratch. But then, that was the unpredictable nature of their work. "I know. But you have to--"

"--Let it go, I know," Reed finished mildly. It wasn't the first time they'd had this conversation, either. "It just makes you think, that's all."

Malloy frowned. He wasn't particularly liking how this conversation was going. Ahead, the red Camaro seemed to notice them for the first time and slowed down to a respectable speed. Fine. Pete gave his partner a slightly longer look. "Think about what?"

"You know--"

The radio cut him off. "One-Adam-12, 1-Adam-12, a prowler call at 2912 DeFoe Avenue, prowler still there. Respond Code 2."

Reed picked up the radio. "One-Adam-12, roger." 

The conversation would have to wait. Malloy sped up a little, getting into the right lane to turn, already anticipating what they'd find at the call and setting aside his curiosity at what his partner was about to say. 

They were there in less than five minutes. Code 2 meant no lights or siren, but with a prowler still there, speed was of the essence. 

However, the small blue-and-white house they pulled up to gave no sign of disturbance, or anyone being home for that matter. Jim raised an eyebrow at him, a look Pete returned with a pull of the mouth. They'd still have to check it out. With practiced smoothness, Pete got out and left his door ajar, heading up to the front door while Jim slipped quietly around to the right toward the back. 

He knew when his partner would be in position. Pete waited, then knocked on the front door. "Police."

No answer, nor any telltale signs of someone panicking and rushing out the front or back, or even a side window. Nothing at all. 

Pete knocked again. "Police! Anyone home?"

Still no answer. He tried not to look as disgusted as he felt. No one seemed to be there, which meant there probably was no prowler. Crank calls were all too common. 

Not giving vent to his sigh, Pete left the door and headed around to the left to meet Jim in the back, looking carefully as he went. There was still the off chance a watchful neighbor had called the prowler in, and they couldn't discount the possibility without checking. 

But only Reed was in the small backyard, peering into the lonely, square shed that sat on the back edge of the property. 

"Anything?" Pete asked.

Jim shook his head. "Uh-uh. Can't find any signs of anyone having been back here recently, either. Was anyone home?"

Malloy made a face. "Oh, sure, they're just cowering under the bed for fear of the prowler. I think we've been had, partner."

Jim nodded, already starting back to the car. Maybe it was the optimism of youth, Pete thought wryly, but Reed always seemed to take the inevitable trick calls with more equanimity than Pete did. It wouldn't do to swell his partner's head, but Pete often learned nearly as much from the younger officer as Reed still was from him.

They got back to the car and Reed called in the negative on the prowler and cleared them, as Pete headed back out of the neighborhood. 

Another minute passed by in the filtered quiet of traffic sounds and the mumbling radio. 

Pete finally looked at his partner. "So what did it make you think about?"

Reed glanced at him, startled. "Huh?"

"McCree's funeral. What's it making you think about?"

Jim almost grinned at him, recognizing Pete's interest just as Malloy knew he would. The kid was way too perceptive, but then, that was what made him such a good cop. "It's not a big deal, Pete. I was just thinking about why we do the job. Sometimes it doesn't really seem worth it." Another sideways glance at him. "What made you change your mind about leaving?"

Reed didn't need to elaborate for Pete to know when he meant. Just that much reminder brought back the now-dull wrench of memory of Mark's shooting and subsequent death. Seven years riding with someone was a long time, and Malloy had had no desire then to do it all over again with another rookie partner who would also get himself killed. He'd all but turned in his resignation to the chief two weeks later. And then he'd met a gawky newbie by the name of Jim Reed, who had given him a different pair of eyes to see things through. 

Reed's tactfulness at not mentioning Mark was just the kind of thing that had made Pete rethink his decision to quit then, and not regret it since. But he couldn't well say _that_ and let the kid get a swelled head, could he? Reed would be insufferable for the rest of the evening. 

"I told you," Malloy said instead. "I couldn't turn you loose without a leash on the helpless citizens of our fair city."

"Uh-huh," came the all-too-knowing answer from beside him. Malloy shook his head. His partner was really getting to be quite insufferable. 

"One-Adam-12, prowler reported at 315 Goleta Street, prowler still there. Code 2."

Pete shifted lanes again as Jim answered the radio summons. Maybe this would turn out to be real.

*****

It didn’t. This time there was someone home, an elderly woman who'd looked at them with frank puzzlement and a bit of worry when they'd asked about the prowler. Pete had to stay just to reassure her that it had probably been a prank, while Jim checked around the property and confirmed it. 

"Someone seems to be having fun today." Pete didn't try to hide his annoyance once they were on their way again.

"At least it's a slow day. Remember that time those teenagers were calling in false reports? Between the false alarms and the real calls, I don't think we even got a 7 that evening."

He didn't sound too bothered by the memory of the busy night and missed dinner, and Pete just nodded grumpily. There had at least been some satisfaction then they'd tracked the troublemaking teens down and called their parents. It had put an end to _that_.

Pete idly watched two men on bicycles far ahead of them, on Jim’s side of the street, as he half-looked at his partner. "So what made you want to be a cop?"

"Dick Tracy." 

The answer made him forget the bicyclists and turn to stare at Reed. "Dick Tracy? The guy in the comic strip?"

Jim was grinning, enjoying his reaction. "Sort of. My best friend and I would read Dick Tracy all the time and then we'd go out and play cops and robbers. By the time I got to high school and talked to an officer who came to speak to our class, I just knew that was what I wanted to be." 

Malloy smirked. "Let me guess, you played the cop and your friend was the robber?"

"Actually, the bad guy always wore the neat black hat so I usually wanted to be him." 

That was too much. Pete laughed despite himself.

"No, seriously," and Jim's voice grew sober, "it seemed like the best way to help people except for maybe becoming a doctor, but I was never much good at science."

Even the self-deprecation didn't detract from the substance of the words, and Pete was surprised to find an echo of it in his mind. It had been a long time since he'd thought about why he’d become a cop, and the memories were clouded by having made the decision together with his old friend, Tom Porter, who had since given his life for the badge. But the desire to help had been there once for Pete, too, and maybe that altruism hadn't faded altogether. His partner's idealism was a powerful preserver. 

Up ahead, the bikes sped up into a genuine race now, or so it seemed until the one in the lead brushed against a woman, setting her enough off-balance that the second one easily swiped her purse. They both peddled madly on. 

"Pete--"

"I saw it." He was already speeding up as Reed called in it. 

The bust wasn't a hard one. Despite the two felons' neat little M.O., they'd been too busy making their fast getaway to notice the black-and-white as it swerved into their path. The lead bicyclist went tumbling over the hood of the car while the other one spun out trying to avoid them. Pete had the first one picked up and cuffed almost as quickly as Jim took care of the second one. 

The subsequent reports, talking to the shaken victim, and seeing the two men downtown and through booking took up most of the rest of their shift. Still, it was the kind of day that still had made the streets a little safer, the innocents on it a little less fearful, and that was a good day in Malloy's book. Even after eleven long years on the Force. 

*****

The hours from rush hour to the late twilight of spring were often the slowest, most people safely home but not yet drunk or fighting or causing trouble. Shops were closing, cutting down on the 211s, and burglars hadn’t started up yet, waiting for the cover of darkness. It was often the quietest part of the shift. 

"You want to take 7?" Jim asked distractedly as they rounded one block and set off down another. 

It was late to be taking their dinner break, but with the bicycle thieves, they'd missed normal dinner hours. 

Pete shrugged. "Fine by me."

Reed picked up the radio. "This is 1-Adam-12, requesting Code 7 at Roscoe and Grove."

"One-Adam-12, continue patrol and handle this call. A prowler reported at 18 Green Verdugo Drive, prowler still there. Handle Code 2."

They traded a martyred glance. "What is this, our night for prowler false alarms?" Pete groused. 

"You'd think the prankster would be a little more original. And Green Verdugo is way out there." 

Jim ignored him. "One-Adam-12, Roger." 

Malloy grimaced. "See, this is the kind of stuff that makes _me_ think maybe I'm in the wrong line of work."

"Aw, c'mon, Pete, who knows, maybe it's for real this time. Just think, if we get lucky, we'll catch the guy and stay late doing all the paperwork."

"Oh, you're a real card." Pete made another face, this time at Reed. 

But he was grinning to himself just as widely as his amused partner. 

*****

As they drove, the suburbs gave way to more open, less inhabited areas. Green Verdugo took a while to find while trying to read the teetering, muddied road signs, but number 18 was much easier: it was the only house in sight in either direction. Peeling paint and a sagging front door completed an image of long disuse. 

"Terrific," Pete said unenthusiastically, gazing over the house. It was hard to imagine anyone noticing or even caring if a prowler was around, but the shrubbery and tree-filled grounds that stretched off to all sides would have to be searched nonetheless. By his partner's face, Jim wasn't looking forward to it much more than Pete was. "Well, we'd better get started." 

Jim nodded. "You want to check the house while I go around?"

"Sounds like a plan." 

Reed circled again to the right, disappearing into the descending twilight. Pete sighed and started up the cracked and splintered staircase, watching his step in case the whole thing went. 

The door wasn't even remotely what could have been called closed, but Malloy gave it a halfhearted knock anyway, unsurprised when it swung open at his touch. That took care of illegal entry. Pete pushed it gingerly open all the way and stepped inside, pulling his flashlight as he did.

The inside matched the outside. Emptied of furniture except for the few heaps that were obviously not worth saving, its only occupants now were spiders and crickets, who didn't care about dilapidated housing. A healthy layer of dirt and dust over the floor, unbroken except for windswept whirls, was proof of the lack of any two-legged inhabitants. The other two rooms off the back of the house only showed more of the same. "What a dump," Pete muttered, shaking his head. Their prankster had gone out of his way to show them up this time. 

Across the room, the front door creaked, and Pete turned back to it. His partner stood there, backlit by the pink clouds of sunset. 

"I don't see anything around the house. Did you--"

The sudden _crack_ split off whatever Jim had been about to say. 

It happened fast and slow, like such things always seemed to. Like it had once before in a warehouse with a different partner. Before Malloy's mind could connect the memory to recognition and reaction, Jim was already falling where he stood, a cloud of pink-lit dust swirling around him as he hit the floor.

Gunshot. Gunman outside. Jim was down. Maybe dead. 

Pete's gun was in his hand without his having to think about it, his feet already moving with instinct that had nothing to do with training. His partner was down, hurt, maybe badly. 

Another _crack_ came, followed by a third, each kicking up dust as they struck the ground around Jim's body, just where Pete had been heading. He froze in his tracks for a split-second of agonized indecision. A glance out the window revealed just what he feared, that the sniper was nowhere in sight. Somewhere out there between them and help. 

Another attempted move toward Jim brought another two shots, the first hitting inches from his foot and forcing him back again. The second struck Jim's out-flung arm, making it jerk. 

Pete's face twisted. Being helpless had always been one of his buried fears, and it was outrightly devastating now. Pete didn't even know for sure if his friend was even still alive, but moving again could get him killed for sure. "Jim?" he hissed instead, voice harsh. "Talk to me, partner. Reed?"

A slight stirring. Surely he hadn't imagined it. God, he hoped not....

The dark head rolled a fraction toward him. Pete was sure this time, but somehow it only increased his fear. 

Jim blinked at the dust and dimness, looking for him. "Pete--"

Just a raw whisper, but man, it sounded good. Pete licked his lips to his answer, but their friend outside didn't seem as pleased at the fallen officer's response, another _crack_ sounding as splinters flew near Jim's head. The brunet flinched soundlessly.

"Don't move, Jim. Just hang on," Malloy ordered. Pleaded. Whatever. 

He had to do something, and not just because his partner could well be bleeding to death. One more shot could take care of that permanently, and Pete would be damned if he'd sit there in safety and let that happen to his partner. Not again. 

Another _crack_ , this one near Jim's hand. Before the anonymous sniper got a chance to re-aim, Pete dove forward into the open doorway, grabbing Jim's arms and giving him a mighty heave to one side, into the relative safety of shelter. The series of angry shots that spat dust behind him were completely below his notice or care. 

Step one achieved, and for the moment, that was all that mattered to Pete. 

In the fading light of a broken and mostly missing window above them, Malloy checked out his partner. Reed's body was almost slack, sluggish and numb from the shock of injury but not in pain yet. More bewildered than anything. He watched Pete with damnably vulnerable eyes, trusting his partner to fill in the blanks. The deja vu that hit Pete was so strong, it almost ached, but Mark's sea-green eyes hadn't been aware like that, already iced over by death. 

It wasn't the time for memories, though, not if Malloy was to avoid repeating the past. And he would. "Take it easy, Jim," he said as he settled Reed against knees. "Take it easy. It's gonna be all right." All the usual feel-good words had rarely felt so fake, but they weren't usually meant for the comforter. Jim, at least, seemed to be responding to them; trust in your partner went pretty deep if you got lucky. They had. Just knowing Malloy was there seemed to make Jim relax. 

Pete grimaced and began to check his partner out with all the detachment his training provided. 

The arm was bleeding freely, the most obvious wound, and Malloy impatiently pulled out a handkerchief to tie it off. There was an entrance and an exit wound, which meant a cleaner injury, but also more bleeding. At least it wasn't an artery hit. 

As for the first injury...that took longer to find, not as bloody. Malloy had to roll his partner toward him, across his lap, before he caught sight of the soaked fabric near Jim's hip. From the placement and lack of exit wound, it looked like it had buried itself in the pelvic bone. 

Adrenaline-induced clarity left the options obvious. Pete didn't know how bad the hip injury was but it had probably chipped or broken bone and would start to hurt badly as soon as the shock of injury wore off. Already Jim, still pretty loose-limbed and dazed in Pete’s arms, was beginning to tense and breathe faster. And while the wound wasn't bleeding too heavily, Pete was afraid of putting much pressure on the bone, so the dark stain continued to slowly seep. Between the pain and the blood loss, shock wouldn't be far behind, and that could quickly prove fatal. 

And that Pete just wouldn't allow.

Jim gasped, pulling at Malloy's hold for a moment. "Easy, partner," Pete soothed, easing Reed around so that his weight wasn't on his injured side. He caught Jim's hand as it reached automatically toward the site of pain, gently tucking it into the warmth of Reed's jacket instead. Pete hesitated, aware of how rusty he was at this; Reed usually the one who held the hands and offered the comforting words. "I'm gonna get you out of here, don't worry," he said with a strained smile. "My godson's gonna need a dad, you know."

The reminder of Jimmy teased out a brief smile even as Jim gritted his teeth, his skin already white and chilled under Pete's fingers. 

It was time to do something. Any motion brought another string of _cracks_ and dust plumes in the open doorway, so that was out. And it would be too long before dispatch would wonder where they were and send out a unit to check on them, especially as far out as they were. So that left....

Jim's hand curled hard around Pete's leg at another assault of the growing pain. "Pete...." he moaned.

"Ride it out, Jim," Pete said quietly, squeezing his friend's good shoulder in return. "It'll get better in a minute." For a minute, anyway. He pulled off his jacket as carefully as he could, not wanting to jar his suffering partner. "It's time to get us out of here. Think you can hang on for me for a minute while I get back to the car?"

The hand on his leg tightened and it wasn't from pain. "Y' can't...sniper...."

A good cop to the end, even if it got him killed. Pete's lips pressed together but his tone was only gentle, and certain. "It's okay, I'm going out one of the back windows and go around. I think I can make it to the car."

He had to lean close to hear the aching whisper. "...watch it."

"You bet." Pete smiled at that, indulgent rather than amused. "You just take care of yourself. No leaving without me, got it?"

"Got it."

"Good." He slid the sweat-dampened head onto his balled jacket, wincing at the inevitable gasps of movement. He'd done all he could do; calling the cavalry was what would help Jim most now. 

Not allowing himself a glance back, Malloy was crawling out one of the gaping back windowpanes a moment later. 

Getting around the house was easy, but Pete flattened himself as he crept to the front corner. His gun was in his hand again, for all the good it would do; his training had already automatically identified the assailant's weapon as a rifle, most likely with a considerably longer reach than their handguns. But that didn't matter much anymore. For the moment, the sniper was important only inasmuch as he kept Pete from getting his partner help. After he took care of Jim, Malloy would make sure the animal was locked in a cage where he belonged. 

The car wasn't parked far from the front door, maybe fifteen feet, but that was an endless stretch for the sniper to catch Pete in. He hesitated by the corner, calculating the time it would take to cover the distance and the best way to do it. 

A different gun suddenly sounded, a revolver, this one familiar and coming from the house. Pete bit back his amazement; was it really a surprise that Jim would somehow manage to back him up and lay cover fire, even injured? 

He doubted Jim had any better clue than he had as to where the sniper was, but the return assault silenced the gunman for a moment as, no doubt, he had pulled back to safety just in case. Pete wasn't about to waste the opportunity. With Jim still shooting blindly into the darkness, the blond cop hurled himself out from behind the cover of the house, rushing to the car. Five feet, then ten, the ground only vaguely visible beneath his feet. Surely the night settling in would work in their favor? Fifteen feet...

The jar of pain as his shoulder hit the unit, hard, was a beautiful feeling. Jim's door was the one facing the house, and Pete jerked it open, crawling in low and reaching for the radio. 

"One-Adam-12 requesting immediate back-up and an ambulance at 18 Green Verdugo Drive. Officer down and needs assistance; shots fired by sniper from the west. We're pinned down in house and unit."

As dispatch responded and the call went out to other units, Pete's eyes sought out the darkened door. The police-issue revolver had fallen silent, as had their sniper for the moment, and nothing stirred in the gaping house. He hoped to God Jim was just finally resting like Malloy had told him to. "You sure did your share, partner," Pete murmured with a admiring, exasperated shake of the head. He'd have to have a talk with that mule-headed partner of his. 

Okay, help was on the way--step two. It would take a few minutes though, at least, as far out as they were. In the meantime, they'd be a little more evenly matched with their invisible friend out there, Pete thought grimly as he reached for the stashed rifle. _They_...even with Jim down, they were still a unit. 

It only took seconds to load the rifle, another bit of training, and then Pete took a deep breath. With one movement, he popped up from behind the car. "Hey! You out there! This is the police! Come out with your--"

He was ready for the shots that interrupted him, and dived back behind the car even as he noted from about where the muzzle flashes were coming from. As soon as he could scramble up on his knees and wedge himself and the rifle between the car and the open door, Pete took careful aim and fired twice. 

Silence. 

Malloy waited for return fire, a shout, anything. Nothing. Was it possible that he'd hit on the first try? Cautiously, he stretched a bit higher over the car hood. "Police! Throw your gun out and come out with your hands up!"

Still nothing. Which could mean the guy was injured or dead, or maybe just playing 'possum and waiting for Pete to appear again. 

He stood up all the way, ready to dive back down at a split-moment's notice. "I said, come out with your hands up!"

Nothing. Nor was the itchy crawl along his shoulder blades there to tell him he was being set up. 

Maybe he hadn't hit the guy, maybe the sniper had just packed it in and taken off, but whichever it was, he seemed gone.

Malloy chewed his lip, torn for a moment between going out to take a look or returning to his partner. Regs said you were supposed to go after a felonious suspect unless someone else was mortally endangered by your pursuit, but going after the guy wouldn't help catch him, whether he'd fled or been shot, while Jim definitely needed him. 

And, well, truth be told, Pete rather needed Reed, too. Besides, regs were pretty flexible where your partner's welfare was concerned. 

Careful not to turn his back on the sniper's general location and ready to jump aside at the first sign of trouble, Pete quickly hurried back to the house. 

No shots sounded as he skidded to the door, no noise audible but the shushing of windblown tree branches and the soft _chirrup_ of late-October crickets and frogs. The perfect night, if his partner hadn't been lying, bleeding, in the barren house. 

It took a few seconds for Pete's eyes to adjust to the darker interior of the house, but he didn't dare move until they had. A good thing, too, for the first thing he saw was Jim's gun aimed more-or-less steadily at him. 

Reed apparently made him out at the same moment, breathing out hard as his revolver dropped to the floor and he wrapped his good arm around himself. 

"Thought...."

Pete knelt beside him, replacing his jacket pillow with his legs again, a warmer and more comfortable substitute, he hoped. He gave the brunet a humorless smile. "I know what ya thought. Don't have much faith in me, do you, partner?" Malloy tucked his jacket around the curled, shaking figure with care despite the teasing in his voice. 

"P-plenty."

Pete's throat closed. He didn't like this seriousness at all; it was scaring him far more than the feel of the dampness that had spread nearly the length of Jim's side, or the chilled, stiff fingers he absently rubbed as they curled once more around his leg. Pete didn't comment, not until the fingers clutched again at another swell of pain. "Easy, try to breathe," he said softly. "Don't hold your breath, just ride it out. Help's on the way." 

A siren, alone at first, then in chorus, joined the outdoor noises filtering in through the open doorway and windows. Pete snugged the jacket a little more tightly around his partner. 

"You hear that? Cavalry's coming. Mac's probably gonna have a few things to say about you   
messing up your uniform like this." 

Jim struggled to look up at him. "You?" he breathed.

Malloy's hand slid down to Jim's wrist, checking the pulse that beat frantically there. Silently, he badgered the ambulance to hurry. "Naw, I don't have any holes in my uniform, thanks to your back-up out there. I always knew you were stubborn--didn't I tell you to take it easy?"

The smile was even waner than the one he'd gotten before. Jim moved closer against Pete's nearest knee for a moment before blinking up at him again. Too exhausted to talk, his only answer was a look. 

Pete shivered, and not from the bite of the night air. "Okay, I'll overlook it this time, but only if you hang in there and don't make me regret it." He shifted Jim's slightly closer, trying to keep him warm enough.

Outside, the sirens pulled up close and then died, and doors began to bang, voices rising. 

"In here!" Malloy bellowed over his shoulder. "I think the sniper's gone."

The two ambulance attendants appeared first, both bearing powerful flashlights. Reed gave them both a weary, blank look before his eyes sank shut and he rested his head against his partner's nearby arm. 

Pete kept an eye on both his young partner and the attendants as they gave Reed a cursory check to make sure he was stable enough to travel. Jim was far enough out of it that the gentle prodding and movement didn't seem to be upsetting him anymore, though his pulse continued strong and racing under Pete's watchful hold. 

It was that disconnection that a minute later convinced Pete it was okay to slide out from   
underneath his partner at the attendant's assurances and the feel of Mac's hand on his shoulder. But he watched closely as they eased Jim onto the stretcher, careful not to disturb Pete’s makeshift pressure bandage. Jim wasn't even stirring anymore, a sign, Pete hoped, that he'd simply given in to his body's need to rest and conserve strength. Malloy finally, reluctantly followed his sergeant to the door, half an eye still on his partner.

"They found your sniper, unconscious from a shot to the shoulder, about a hundred yards that way," Mac pointed. He eyed Pete. "ID on him says his name is George Branson."

It took a second for the name to sink in to Malloy's distracted brain, but then he turned to Mac with surprise. "Branson? As in Peter Branson?" Wouldn't that be the icing of the cake, some relative of the kid who'd been killed in the accident with McCree, going gunning after another police officer? 

Mac nodded. "We think it's the father." 

Pete closed his eyes, rubbing his forehead tiredly. A rattle made him open it again, and he and Mac stepped aside to make way for the two men as they brought the gurney out of the house. The irregular flashlight beams cast their long shadows far out into the yard. Malloy watched as they made their way to the ambulance and loaded their patient, one getting in after Jim. The driver stopped by the two officers and turned to Pete. "You want to ride in with your partner?"

Malloy was on the edge of saying no--what mattered was that Jim was okay and Pete wasn't bullheaded enough to need to see that for himself--but Mac cut him off.

"Sure he will. I'll get one of the other men to take your unit along."

It was ridiculous...and a relief. With a half-grin, Pete gave his sergeant a grateful glance and turned to follow the train. Of course he didn't need to be there. But if they insisted....

"Oh, and Pete?" 

Mac's voice stopped him once more and he looked back expectantly.

"You know the unit that would have taken the call if you hadn't? It was One-Lincoln-Three."

A single-man unit. Ambushed alone, the officer could have easily died before he would have been found. Malloy got the message. With a slow nod, he turned and left. 

*****

Good thing it was end of watch, Pete thought. At least there was no one to question his staying at the hospital, waiting for word of his partner. 

He'd called Jean earlier, dreading giving Jim's wife the news especially with a still-ambiguous outcome, but she'd taken it better than he'd expected. Even though he'd offered to go over there and bring her in himself, she'd declined, saying she had a friend who could bring her. He didn't push it, instead sinking back into the waiting room chair.

Pete Malloy didn't like hospitals. That was due in part, no doubt, to the fact that he'd spent considerable time in one not long before. After losing control of his car while chasing a suspect alone through Griffith Park, he'd lain for hours in the dirt, in pain, bleeding inside, listening helplessly as the ruined radio transmitted one-way the search underway for him. Listening as his partner spurred everyone else, doggedly following his own instincts even to the point of disobeying Mac, in his determination to find Pete. And he had. 

It was a vague memory at best, his partner’s arrival, the touch of his fingers as he checked for a pulse the only warmth Pete could feel. It had been sometime that evening as he'd waited for his partner to find him, that Pete realized how close he'd gotten to this kid, how much they'd truly become partners and not just assigned to the same unit. He knew and trusted Jim, in some ways more so than he'd ever had Mark. When Jim had finally come to the rescue, "partner" had been the only word Pete had been able to muster, not just recognition but also affirmation. And Jim had known it, too. 

Which was why Pete was there this time even though the head nurse had promised they'd call him at home as soon as there was any word.

The tap of women's shoes hurried down the hall toward him, and Pete lifted his head to see Jean Reed approaching, holding on to a friend. He stood at once, and a moment later Jean had let her friend go and was in his arms instead. Pete held her close, feeling the need to protect and comfort his best friend's wife.

"They think it isn't too bad," he said quickly. "He was injured in the arm but that's just a flesh wound, and in the hip. That's what he's in surgery for now."

She was trembling, but it wasn't with tears. Jean pulled back to look at him, scared but dry-eyed. "How did it happen, Pete?" 

It wasn't really a story he wanted to tell, but she had a right to know. Pete sat her down on one of the chairs and took the chair right next to her, noting with approval that the friend had settled close enough to be there if needed but far enough to give them privacy. He kept an arm around Jean's shoulders, watching her face as he quietly told her as much as Jim would have wanted her to know about the shooting. It was harder than he thought. Pete stopped once, when the events of the night began to sink in and slipped past even his hardened control, his voice growing a little rough. Jean just held on to him until he picked it up again and made it to the end. 

She did cry then, silently into his shoulders, and Pete just held her and rocked. It reminded him again of the deserted house and his injured partner. 

Jean had just pulled herself together, ready to ask another question, when the door down the hall opened and the head nurse came out. She smiled as she caught sight of Pete and came over to them. 

"Mrs. Reed?" 

This was it. Heavy, cold dread settled dully in his stomach despite his optimism with Jean. Mark’s wife had been away; Pete had stood alone as he'd gotten the news he'd already known. 

Jean nodded at the nurse's question, standing, and Pete rose with her. She had straightened away from his arm now, ready to face whatever it was on her own, and Malloy admired again his friend's good taste in his choice of a wife. 

"We're moving your husband to a room now. He's going to be just fine. Would you like to go see him?"

Pete closed his eyes for a second. _Thank you, God._ The relief was a powerful blow, almost rocking even him. 

"Oh, yes," Jean breathed at the same moment, taking a step forward, and he let her go. He had what he wanted now. 

Jean stopped and glanced back at him, then again at the nurse. "But could Officer Malloy come too? They're partners..."

Pete started, looking at her in surprise. First Mac, then Jean--what did they think he was, some sentimental softie?

The nurse's smile included him, too. "Sure. Would you both come this way?"

Well, it wouldn't do to argue and it wasn't as though he minded. Pete gave a mental shrug and followed the two women as they went up a floor, the nurse deflecting Jean's questions with a promise that the doctor would speak to her soon. Then a long hallway, much like the one Pete had been confined to a few months before. Jim and Jean had come to visit him then, too, along with half the department. It was an isolated job they had, sometimes, and yet one with a lot of internal support.

The blond nurse stopped in front of a door. "Right in here." 

Pete hesitated. "Jean, why don't you go in first and--"

"Oh, come on, Pete." She pulled at his arm. "You're family, too."

And what could he say to that?

The room was a silent contrast to the busy hall, no monitors or beeping machines in sight. Pete's middle unclenched a little. Jim looked pale and unwell, eyes ringed with pain and fatigue, but he was breathing steadily and in peaceful sleep. It was a sight for Pete's world-weary heart. Whatever the future held, today wouldn't be a repeat of the past. 

Jean was by the bed already, her husband's hand in hers as she bent to brush a kiss on his lips. Reed stirred at that, blinking sleepily into her face before giving Jean a faint smile. Pete watched in healthy satisfaction as his partner's hand curled around his wife's. One day Pete Malloy would find himself a woman like Jean, but for the time being he could at least admire his partner's good fortune.

And then, it took effort, but Jim turned toward him, the flush of tired pleasure still in his cheeks. His mouth moved for a moment and he blinked painfully again before he managed to whisper one word.

"Partner." 

Pete nodded and grinned, getting an almost-smile back. And then as his partner floated off to sleep again, Malloy slipped out of the room before things got soapy and ruined his image. 

*****

Mac was waiting down in the lobby, and Pete dragged a hand over his face before he went over to meet his supervisor and friend. 

"How is he?"

Malloy gave him a twisted half-grin. "He'll be laid up for a while but he'll be all right. Jean's up there with him now." 

"That's good. Your sniper's been treated and released into custody."

"Oh yeah?" Pete felt too tired for even anger. "He made a statement yet?"

"Biggins is taking care of that right now, but it seems he blames us for the death of his son and wanted to get even." Mac leaned in closer, sympathetically. "It wasn't you and Reed, he was just out gunning for anyone with a badge."

Pete nodded, already dreaming about sleep. "Was he behind those false prowler calls, too?"

Mac stared at him, puzzled. "What false prowler calls?"

Oh well, sometimes it was just one of those days. Pete shook his head. "Never mind. Look, Mac, I'm gonna head home."

"You do that. The unit's parked right out front, and I've taken you off the list for tomorrow. IA needs time to clear the shoot, anyway." 

"Okay, thanks, Mac." He was ready to turn toward the hospital doors when MacDonald's hand on his arm stopped him.

"Pete, you okay?" 

Okay--that was a strange term, wasn't it? He'd almost lost his partner that night, and it wasn't something Pete Malloy took lightly. But Pete had only been half-joking when he'd said he'd stayed with the Force to keep Reed out of trouble. Truth was, having a chance to see the world through his idealist partner’s eyes had reminded Pete why he'd become a cop in the first place, and as the partnership had strengthened, it had given him ample restored faith in--and peace about--what he did. If anything, that night's ordeal had just confirmed his choice. His partner was alive and they'd soon be riding together once more, and there wasn't a lot that Pete was more okay with than that.

The corner of Pete's mouth rose. "Yeah, Mac. I'm okay." 

And with that, he turned and left for home. 

The End


End file.
